


Sound and Colour

by WanderingBandurria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Realism, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Pre-Slash, Remus Lupin Never Went to Hogwarts, Sirius Black runs away from Grimmauld Place, Sort of? - Freeform, Synesthesia, Weird Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBandurria/pseuds/WanderingBandurria
Summary: Sirius Black has a secret: he can see sounds. He can hear words that haven't been said. He can hear sounds from the past. He hasn't asked for this, he doesn't really like it.He thinks he's the only one with this skill, until one day, he runs away from home, to end up in a mysterious town.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Sound and Colour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i_love_wolfstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_love_wolfstar/gifts).



> Hello! So, okay, this short ficlet holds all the possibilities for a fully-fledged fic, but AH. There's so much beauty in this open-endedness. I might actually finish this at some point, but in the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy this as a bit of a teaser, maybe?  
> As always, all my love to my amazing beta, LikeABellThroughTheNight. Also all my love to [BrujaBanter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrujaBanter/pseuds/BrujaBanter), who helped me as a second beta, to keep an eye in the details. Still, if there's any mistake that you can see here, it's all my fault! Please let me know about it in the comments, I love learning more about English.  
> Anyways, I hope you like this short ficlet with this universe! I sure did fall in love with it <3

\---

Sirius can see the undertones in everyone’s voices. He can _see_ them, like waves and colours. He can also hear the undertones in their voices, as whispers and new sounds that other people don’t hear. He can hear the echoes of words, he can hear the steps of people who already ran through the same passageways he runs now, and listen to the sound of what’s now old memories of promises of love and forever, long time turned bitter in the lovers’ hearts.

He hears the words left unsaid, the lies told, but he also hears the reverberations of the past in the present, left in every wall, in every mirror, in every surface.

That’s why he prefers noise. When everything is noisy, the colours mix and the _other_ words fall together with the words coming out of people’s mouths. The mixture doesn’t turn into confusion and chaos but instead it lets him rest and stop pretending he doesn’t realize that Lily is _lying_ and she is actually falling in love with James, but hates herself for that. He can talk with Peter about why he’s so nervous, instead of hearing all the doubts about now and the future, about his abilities, and what if Voldemort wins, and what if he’s not enough, and what if his mother dies, and what if, what if…

He can stop hearing James ask himself if he’ll die before his parents.

He runs away from home during the holiday break because he can hear the words under his father’s _you’ll do what we tell you_ , because the implied _or else_ is not implied now, and holds promises of punishment and real, painful, red hate that hurts his eyes.

He doesn’t go to the Potters, nor to the Evanses, much less to the Pettigrews. He thinks for a second of going to the McKinnons since they won’t ask too many questions, but just the idea of the flash of colours - pale pinks and soft lilacs - and of the muted words - _how could they, are they monsters, I wonder what else they’ve been doing to him -_ are too much to bear. So he takes his broom and his trunk and flies without direction, just feeling his heartbeat and the sounds the wind carries.

He always had a special spot in his heart for flying. It’s like the wind swirls the sounds and colours and makes everything a pale blue and all the noises just a soft hum of _I heard this_ es, _did you know…?_ s and _that’s not what my mother says_ es.

He doesn’t know how far he flies, but after hours without seeing lights under his feet, he lands in a small town that’s eight square blocks, at most. The night is cold as hell, but it’s alright - he likes the numbness that comes with it. He can sense the magic, and he can hear the old spells around, so he just has to follow the old travellers’ voices to find a beautiful inn with windows with yellow coloured glass, where a stone-faced witch takes his money silently and guides him with muted steps to a small room on the second floor that is too cold and too bare, but feels strangely right. Proper. Bare, like his stripped-down soul. 

He sits on the small desk by the window, and his brain doesn’t have a sound in it for once. There’s barely a murmur, like running water, coming from the room, and his heart feels heavy and light and it’s like he opened a door to a black-and-white dimension, with only the sound of the static of vinyl and the colours of an old Muggle movie.

It’s oddly comforting.

He breathes in the cold air of the room, without lighting the candle. In and out, in and out. His limbs ache and his mind swirls with the silence, and he closes his eyes. In and out, in and out. He’s not sure what he’s doing next, he’s not sure where he belongs. In and out, in and out. He doesn’t care anymore, he _doesn’t_. He _shouldn’t_. In and out.

It starts snowing outside, and the sound is beautiful in his soul. He opens his eyes, and it’s all gold and amber and with a soft song about life and cycles and how far _all_ have come. Memories of lips and bodies and planes and brooms fall with it, and Sirius for once pays attention to the voices that are not quite human, not quite memories, not quite monsters.

A light in the house across the street surprises him - he’s not sure how long he’s been sitting, watching the snow, but he realizes his neck hurts from looking up and his teeth are chattering. And across the street, illuminated by candlelight, there’s a boy about his age looking straight at him, surprised and soft.

Sirius sees light brown and soft green at first. And then the boy smiles - sad, and tired, and still so warm and soft, and all of a sudden it’s white and silver and grey, and Sirius is back in the black and white world that seems to surround him. And it’s beautiful and comfortable, and he always thought that if he’d ever feel something like this - _what is it? attraction, connection, the seed of what can be love?_ \- it would be a fucking rainbow; but instead, it’s soothing, and black-and-white-and-grey, like clouds on an afternoon and smoke from a fire warming your bones when you are freezing - terrible and frightening but _here, here, here, this is life, here, here, this heart is where you live._

_Oh_ , he hears, and the boy in front of the window shifts on his feet, smiling brightly, the candlelight playing with the silver of the boy’s thoughts, and somehow Sirius knows that that sound is not an echo. _You are new,_ and the boy keeps his eyes firmly on Sirius as everything turns back to light browns and greens. The boy’s smile turns mischievous and Sirius hears _fancy a cuppa?_ before the boy is winking, and disappearing from his window.

Sirius stays there, blinking, for about two seconds before stumbling to his feet, dizzy, lightheaded, lead-footed. It’s the first time that he really questions if sounds can travel not only from the past, not only in the present, but from the future too, because as he leaves the room, he can hear from the door, muffled and small, the _you feel like home_ said with his own voice, hopeful and surrendered, and covered by soft, soft silver waves.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired in the short story that inspired the song "Video Killed the Radio Star" that I got as a prompt on Tumblr. The short story (the sound sweep) presents a dystopian world where levels of acoustic contamination have reached the limits and so places have to be clean from the remnants of the sounds - in addition to this, music has been replaced by straight-to-the-brain stimulation to stop the further contamination. There were several things that made the story not-my-favourite, but I do think the universe is super interesting to explore! So I hope this weird, magical version of that might have been fun to explore :)  
> Please let me know what you think about this in the comments! I love hearing your ideas and interacting with you folks!  
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://wanderingbandurria.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi!


End file.
